The Goodness of Men

by Anngela Schroeder

  “What do you mean she is gone?” Darcy barked at his footman. “When did she depart?”

  “Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet and…her sister left before sunrise this morning, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds replied, coming into the room and standing beside him.

  Darcy nodded, dismissing the footman, and turning to Mrs. Reynolds. “And you did not see fit to wake me? To inform me until now?”

  “Forgive me,” she replied, a stern countenance on her features. “Miss Anderson has taken to bed with pains. We were concerned the babe was coming early.”

  Darcy’s tone changed slightly. “What about Turner? Mrs. Anderson? Are they aware?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mrs. Reynolds looked at her master, the man who she still saw as a shy child, and responded. “The Markham’s are preparing to leave. Lord Markham just asked for their trunks to be brought down.”

  “And Richard?”

  “He is with Miss Georgiana riding the grounds.”

  He nodded, and turned to his study. “Very well. When Richard and Georgiana arrive, could you tell them to come to my study? And notify me when the Markhams are ready to depart.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He began to walk, when he heard Mrs. Reynolds ask, “And should I have them prepare your carriage, Mr. Darcy?”

  He turned to her and quietly said, “Thank you, no.”

  July 22, 1812

  Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner sat in the Chenowith library, while Lydia paced the room like a caged animal. They had arrived the previous day, and with an intelligence Mrs. Green had shared with her aunt, the women had decided to remain at Chenowith and not travel onward to London.

  “La, when will we be off to London? I am certain Papa will allow me to go to the theater and assemblies…”

  “We shall see,” was Mrs. Gardiner’s only reply, as she continued to sew.

  “And what of you, Lizzy?” Lydia asked, tossing her curls and trailing her finger along the table. “Why are you so down in the mouth? You cannot be mourning the loss of Mr. Darcy? Such a dull man. It is no wonder he is still not married, even with all his money and grand estate. Wickham said—”

  “Lydia, you must not understand the situation you are in,” Aunt Gardiner began, placidly focusing on her stitches. “You will remain silent until we have given you permission to speak, or you will be muzzled as a dog!”

  Lydia yelped. “You are not serious! You take your jokes too far, Aunt!”

  Mrs. Gardiner glanced up at her niece and set her sewing her lap, “Oh, do I? No, dear. I think it is you who takes your assumptions too far. But,” she said, picking up her sewing again, “that will be dealt with in due course of time.”

  They returned to silence, Elizabeth enjoying the concern in her younger sister’s eyes, when the sound of horse’s hooves could be heard on the gravel.

  Mrs. Gardiner looked up and smiled, before walking over to the window. “Wonderful.”

  Lydia Bennet considered herself an intelligent girl, or so she had thought. She remembered bragging only a week ago to Mr. Wickham about her intellectual prowess; how she was more intelligent than even Elizabeth. Staring into the eyes of all those angry faces, she began to doubt her abilities.

  “It was just a great joke, Papa. There was no harm done to anyone, least of all me. I was chaperoned the entire time by Mrs. Younge…”

  “Who is a woman who owned an establishment involved in selling young girls to sailors bound for the Americas,” Mr. Gardiner replied, pacing behind the couch the others were seated on.

  “That is impossible!” Lydia said, defiantly. “She told me how she was the widow of a respectable gentleman who left her a large sum of money…”

  “No, she is the widow of a moneylender, who was killed in a duel. Her retribution upon his death was a boarding house in an unsavory part of London and a few thousand pounds. She since had the idea to turn it into her ‘fine establishment.’”

  “Lydia!” Elizabeth cried. “Do you know what could have happened to you?”

  Attempting to hide her shaking hands, she raised her chin and said, “But it did not, nor will it ever. Papa.” She began to rub her palms on her lap before speaking. “I am tiring of travel and wish to return to Longbourn. May we leave in the morning?”

  All eyes turned to Mr. Bennet as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner looked at each other and took a breath. “No, my dear. You will not be admitted to Longbourn.”

  “What?” she cried, her head jerking up to look at him. “What do you mean? Longbourn is my home.”

  “Away to school for you. I have at least learned to be cautious, and you will learn the effects of it. And you will not be permitted at Longbourn until you can prove that you can spend ten minutes of every day in a rational manner.”

  Lydia shouted and stamped her feet. “How can you do this to me?”

  “Because I did not believe I would have a daughter who would travel half way across England with a man of such little substance and a woman of ill-repute!”

  They all sat staring at one another until finally Mrs. Gardiner spoke. “So, Lydia. You will get your things together, and we will be leaving in the morning. Your uncle has already contacted Madame Carlotta, and we will be placing you there on our way back to London.”

  “Papa!” Lydia cried, fear rising in her breast. “You cannot!”

  “Yes, I can, and I must. The future happiness of all your sisters depends on it. You have set about to ruin the family, and I will take the blame for my inaction. But you, child, you will feel the results of your decisions.”

  He stood and walked over, to bend down and kiss Lydia on the forehead. “Good bye, Lydia. Do not attempt to write to your mother or aunt Phillips begging for help. I will read your letters first and censor them, and I will instruct your uncle Phillips to do the same. Once your behavior has improved, we will discuss you coming home for a visit.” Turning to his favorite daughter, he continued. “Lizzy, I will retire to refresh myself. This has worn me out, and I need to rest before our journey home tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, girl. Unless there is something that keeps you here?”

  She stared out the window before shaking her head. “No, Papa. Nothing.”

  The shadows of the ruins were long as Elizabeth made her way up the stone steps of Moss Landing, trying once again not to slip on the foliage sticking to the rocks. He has not come. She lowered her eyes, watching for uneven earth and stones, making her way down the hallway towards the ruins that had been the ballroom. I thought he would come.

  She gazed at the moon attempting its ascent on the horizon and walked over and sat on the perch he had occupied those many weeks before. “It was here,” she said to the empty room. “Here that spark began to kindle. But, it cannot,” she interrupted her own lament. “He could not tie himself to my family, no matter how deeply his feelings are engaged.”

  She kicked a rock away from her, sadness swelling within her breast. “I cannot imagine never feeling his touch again…his arms around me…his lips…” She closed her eyes, and reached up to touch her mouth. “Never again.”

  “Never is a long time, my love. I do not believe I could survive.”

  She spun around to find Mr. Darcy standing in the doorway watching her.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I will always find you, Elizabeth.” He walked towards her and reached for her hand before she pulled it away.

  “No, Fitzwilliam…Mr. Darcy! You cannot align yourself with my family. I will not allow you to pull Pemberley and Georgiana down in disgrace.”

  “But it is not your decision to make,” he said, reaching for her again before she once more evaded his touch.

  “I will not marry you,” she said, defiantly. “I release you from our understanding.”

  His brows furrowed in frustration. “I refuse to be released. Stop being so obstinate! This is a small matter which we can overcome.”

  “It is not, sir, and I ask you to remove yourself fr
om my presence.”

  “Elizabeth!”

  “Do not address me so informally, sir.” Her strength was breaking, but she had to maintain control. I will not allow him to ruin his good name.

  “Miss Bennet,” he growled. “I have been a man in control of my life for the last five years. I can assure you I do not need anyone to make my decisions for me.”

  “Yes, but you cannot make mine for me!” She shot back, anger rising within her. “I will not marry you!”

  “Is that right?” he asked smugly.

  “Yes!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “There is nothing you can do or say.”

  “Even when I tell your father you came into my room at Chenowith and kissed me?”

  She gasped. “You would not!”

  “Or,” he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face, “that you awaited me in the portrait gallery at Pemberley in nothing but your night dress and robe?”

  “Fitzwilliam!”

  “Oh, it is Fitzwilliam now?” he asked, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her to him in one movement and kissed her with a ferocity which left her breathless. “I have claimed you, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said with ragged breath. “You belong to me, and I to you. I will never let you get away, no matter what misguided charity you think you are performing for me. Do you understand?”

  She stood there, her head resting beneath his chin as he stroked her back. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. I understand.”

  “Good,” he said, leaning back and kissing her lightly on the mouth, the taste of him permeating her senses. “We must return to the house before I am forced to throw you across my horse and ride to Gretna Greene.”

  She giggled, and leaned up to kiss the dimple in his chin. “I love you, Fitzwilliam.”

  “And I you.”

  Epilogue

  August 3, 1812

  George Wickham scoffed at the image of the four men fading into the distance of the shoreline, as his ship to America was sailing further out to sea. I always get what I want. He turned away and headed down to his stateroom to retrieve a book and change into more comfortable traveling clothes.

  Opening the door to his berth, he was surprised to see his trunk was no longer where Darcy’s livery had placed it. One of those young sailors must have put it down in storage! There will be a switch across someone’s backside if it is not retrieved quickly!

  He ascended back up the stairs and looked around him, seeing the shoreline had now faded into a thin line, before he saw the captain.

  “Captain! Captain Braziel. My trunk is missing from my room. Do have someone fetch it for me.”

  “Fetch it for you?” the older man asked, with a lopsided grin. “Your accommodations have been altered. I expect ye to change your clothes and make your way back up to the deck for your chores.”

  “Chores!” Wickham replied, a sense of trepidation beginning to take over. “Whatever do you mean? I am a guest of Lord Markham’s.”

  The old sea captain snorted, “Yes, boy, you’re a guest. You’re going to the Americas, alright. This ship is bound fer the South Americas. Lord Markham owns a few salt mines down in them parts and needs strong workers. Ye fit the bill!”

  “No,” Wickham cried, panic in his eyes, as he ran towards the railing.

  “Go ahead and jump, boy. The sharks’ll get ye faster than ye could swim back to shore, and that’ll save us from having to feed ye. The other lads’d like to divvy your things, too.”

  Wickham looked from the captain to the sea, realizing there was no way out. Blast you, Darcy!

  And how did the rest of our characters fair in the journey to find happiness? George Wickham made it to South America, where he attempted to escape from the salt mines and became lost in the jungle before succumbing to malaria.

  Mrs. Younge arrived at Margaret Anderson’ barrister’s office claiming to be the young girl and was met by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Turner who immediately had her arrested and transported to Australia to serve out her sentence.

  Chenowith came to life with the addition of little Phillipa Anderson. It was a short time after her first birthday, however, that Margaret felt ready to embark on her journey to the Americas, accompanied by Mr. Turner and her new companion, a widowed gentlewoman of Mrs. Amelia Anderson’s acquaintance. Mr. Turner remained with her for several months until she was settled in Boston. Soon after she became engaged to a man with a kind heart and gentle disposition. They happily lived out their days with their children in a ten-room home on twenty-acres, which was rumored to be a safe house for the Underground Railroad.

  Lydia Bennet was forcibly enrolled at Madame Carlotta’s School for Girls, only to attempt to flee four times. On her fourth and final attempt, she succeeded and ran off with a young viscount, who she believed would marry her. After she was ruined, and he informed her he would never marry a woman who behaved in that manner, she returned to Madame Carlotta’s, having learned her own insignificance. Madame Carlotta counseled her, and through her own desire, Lydia saw the error of her ways.

  She stayed on at Madame Carlotta’s to help young girls who reminded her of her own boisterous self before her arrival and encouraged them to live a life of propriety. She eventually married, choosing a man of respectability—a barrister who helped prosecute former soldiers who abandoned their posts. She never resided at Longbourn again.

  The other Bennet sisters, who the reader has heard so little of, lived their lives in peace, marrying men who fit their personalities—Jane wrote that Mr. Bingley had renewed his acquaintance and after a short courtship, they were happily ensconced at Netherfield; a new rector of the Longbourn parish admired Mary’s piety and offered for her one night after a riveting discussion of Fordyce’s Sermons; and a member of His Majesty’s Navy put to rest the childish fantasy of Kitty Bennet towards men in the militia.

  Lady Cecilia Markham tired of London society and the bland men she met there, instead often came to Pemberley to visit her good friend, Georgiana Darcy. It was on one such visit that she was reintroduced to the second son of the Earl of Matlock, whose passion in defending the women in the study at Pemberley that night long ago had endeared him to her. Her coquetry was gone, and she enjoyed his company for the man he was and not for the title he would never possess.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoyed the attention Lady Cecilia paid him and determined to make her his. Her father was delighted that a man with such a remarkable pedigree would marry his daughter after the stain of Wickham. Colonel Fitzwilliam was overjoyed that he not only captured his lovely bride but was now related to a man who saw to the demise of his most hated enemy.

  Mr. Turner returned to Chenowith free from the confines of being a guardian to a young woman and her child. Upon visiting his good friend at Pemberley, he was arrested by the sight of Mrs. Darcy and an angelic woman walking through the gardens. He was shocked to discover Miss Georgiana Darcy had blossomed while he had been abroad. He determined to woo her and set to the task immediately.

  Georgiana Darcy was startled to realize she had never noticed Mr. Turner’s fine countenance—his tall frame and ready smile put her at ease, unlike all the men she had met since her debut. She enjoyed walking the grounds with him, discussing books, and delighted in his enjoyment of her playing the pianoforte—he held no false compliments or promises and she knew his interest was for her and not her thirty-thousand pounds. Her girlish heart fluttered when he asked her to marry him on a hill overlooking Dovedale. They resided in Chenowith which suited both Georgiana and her brother perfectly.

  And what of our dear couple? The banns were read at Pemberley before Ulysses hooves cooled from the journey from Chenowith. With the entire Bennet family, save Lydia, arriving for the festivities, Pemberley’s walls pulsed as they had not in years. Georgiana was overwhelmed by her new family but loved Elizabeth dearly. When the noise threatened to disconcert her, she and her brother would merely retire to his study to read quietly together.

  It wa
s in his study, where Elizabeth found him, months after their marriage, and told him how she wanted to travel to the Caverns at Poole to lay a wreath and cross down for his brother where he had perished.

  The kindness of the gesture was not lost on Darcy and he relented. Cook had packed a picnic lunch the next day, and Darcy and Elizabeth ate it together before taking a lantern into the caverns alone. They stood there at the base of the pool, flowers floating in the water, and the crucifix placed beneath the wall, when she turned to him.

  “Fitzwilliam, you once told me how you used to sleep with a candle from the time of Henry’s death, but you have not since we have been married.”

  He drew her to him, and kissed her brow. “Because with you, I am no longer afraid,” he said, holding her closely. “Now, let us leave. We have paid homage to my brother. I do not want you becoming ill in the dampness. Mrs. Reynolds has said you’ve not been feeling well—"

  “There is another reason I wanted to come here with you.”

  “What is it my dear.”

  “I have been having dreams…” She blew out a nervous breath and kissed his stubbled chin. “Fitzwilliam, I am with child—”

  He put the lantern down, and picked her up, holding her close. “A child? I am to be a father?” All at once, the realization overtook him, and he set her down gently. “Lizzy! Why are we here? You cannot crawl through the cave entrance. It could harm the babe!”

  She laughed and reached up to cup his chin. “I wanted to tell you here, in this cavern, that you will be a father….and it is a boy.”

  “A boy? How can you know that?”

  She smiled, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Henry told me.”

  “Henry?” Darcy asked, emotion blanketing his words. “Henry told you?”

  She nodded, swallowing before speaking again. “He has been telling me every night for three weeks in my dreams!”

  He looked at her incredulously. “How is that so?”

  “I do not know, but he has and the baby’s name is…”